They Seek Him Here! They Seek Him There!
by Scarlet Secret
Summary: After a disastrous trip to visit her sister-in-law Cora is about to be executed in Revolutionary France until she sights a big black horse and a mysterious figure with a gun cutting through the crowd. AUs FOREVER!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Erm...as promised to Doctor Madwoman, Cora is about to be executed in revolutionary France and then she is rescued. Anyone who thinks that it's Robert under the mask should really click back now to avoid disappointment.

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><p>It was not a good day to die.<p>

Cora, the recently captured and sentenced Countess of Grantham, cursed her fool of a husband for getting her into this terrible situation and focused on her anger as a way of preventing the tears that had been falling at an alarming and, she thought, rather pathetic rate

He had _insisted_ on this trip, something they had been putting of for years now but at long last she had come to France to visit the sister-in-law she had never met and get to know her. Robert had been hoping that her calm demeanor would rub off on his troublesome sister and Cora wished she could curse Rosamund for having been disowned after running away to marry a Frenchman and thus dropping her in this horrible, _terrifying_ situation, however, she couldn't make herself be too furious with a woman who had probably already been taken by these ruffians and executed. She had never set eyes on her sister-in-law in twenty years of being related and now, because some fool thought they were traitors, she never would.

But how on earth could they say she was a traitor just because she happened to have a title? She wasn't even French and she had no interest in their politics! She'd never even _been_ here before and she hadn't done a single thing to any of them but when she had arrived at Rosamund's abode to find it utterly ransacked and her truant sister-in-law missing there had been a guard waiting to take yet another aristocrat away. It was almost as though he'd been tipped off but other than the family no one knew she was inFrance...unless Violet really had gotten sick to death of her?

Her capture had not been especially dignified and she'd found herself shoved first into the back of a wagon and then, after a terribly bumpy journey, a stinking cesspit of a room populated by dozens of frightened looking people in tatters that much have once been grand. The sight had made her cry out but she had been determined to be brave and not actually cry because Robert simply _must _have found out and was surely coming to rescue her! He was a good man and he wouldn't leave her to die miserable and alone in a French gaol surrounded by people she didn't know!

For several days she had managed to cling to that belief despite her nightmarish surroundings and she had willed her stupid, _stupid _husband, who was terribly sweet even if he had been foolish enough to send her toFrance in the midst of a revolution, to come and save her. With the brief moments of sleep she managed to capture she dreamt of him kicking down the door like a noble hero, armed with the musket that they had a portrait of him wielding at home – despite the fact that she had never once seen him fire the thing, or indeed handle it properly – and taking her away from this terror. A daring rescue indeed!

Through her fear Cora managed a small smile at the thought: Robert could be charming and chivalrous when he wanted to be but that amount of exertion was surely beyond him. He couldn't rescue her personally if he tried to; these revolutionaries would only end up with another aristocratic head to add to their collection. Those sorts of rescues only ever happened in foolish stories, told to assure children that the world was not as horrible a place as Cora was discovering it was. Like the current craze for the Scarlet Pimpernel. She wished she was naïve enough to believe in a masked hero that would arrive in a moment and save her from the rabble but as her fellow occupants of this grim and revolting room dwindled she believed less and less. She was going to die in Francefor the crime of marrying a titled man and wouldn't her Mother be _so_ proud of her little girl's good fortune now. It was absurdly unfair but she thought shouting at them would get her nowhere: she had already discovered that her parlour-room French was fairly useless here amongst the _real_ French people and if she alerted them to her presence too much they might make her execution all the sooner. She had to give Robert as much time as possible! He had to be doing _something_ surely?

On the fifth morning the clanking of the door awoke her quite suddenly from her already disturbed sleep and she was immediately alert, wondering whether it would be the old lady in the corner with the exquisite lace hanging filthy around her neck? Or perhaps the distinguished looking young man in the corner, who had been left behind when a couple, presumably his parents, had been dragged off yesterday? The rough hands around her arms, dragging her to her feet confirmed the worst possible outcome and she finally let the tears fall. She'd already bitten through her lip in an attempt to calm herself when she reached daylight for the first time since her captivity and blinked at the brightness of it until her eyes were able to focus on the vehicle in front of her.

It was her turn.

They hustled her into the horse-drawn carriage and she felt herself heaving bile onto the straw underfoot as they trundled along, heading towards the nearby sounds of jeering crowds and the inevitable guillotine. She tried to think of her children, their faces and their laughter, but she couldn't. They were practically lost to her now – she would never see Mary's children, see Edith marry or see whatever scandal Sybil was going to expose them to, something that had seemed so terrible but what she wouldn't give to hear her youngest daughter's revolutionary opinions. Would Sybil still think the whole thing so noble when she learnt that her own Mother had died at their hands?

In seemed extraordinary to Cora, in the small part of her mind that wasn't shutting down with panic, that all she could see, all she could think about at all was that it was drizzling with rain and she was going to die wet. Somehow this indignity prevented her from screaming and fainting when the guillotine came into view and the crowds increased their excited din at her appearance. It shocked her to see their faces as she trundled past. These people, who didn't know her, _hated_ her and she wanted to shout and scream to them that she wasn't even French, had done them no harm, that she had children, one of whom wasn't even fourteen yet, and a life and a family and that they should let her go but the utter revulsion in their eyes almost made her reel.

There wasn't a person here who wasn't baying for her blood.

She reached the bottom of the sodden, wooden steps and stumbled to such an extent that in the end she was dragged bodily from the carriage and towards the stairs. Strong and rough hands grabbed her shoulders and she was pushed up onto the platform, being followed by a man in a black cap. His hands kept her upright and directed her up the stairs and even when she slipped on something that felt far too squelchy to simply be water he still pushed her onwards. She tried to keep her emotions in check, determined that if she had to die she would die proudly, if without much dignity.

_Oh god Robert please save me! I'm not ready!_

She didn't _want_ to die! No one ever _wanted_ to die she supposed but she had nothing to do with this rabble. It wasn't her fault the French people were starving and their aristocrats were corrupt – she wasn't! She'd just married well! They were all nothing to do with her!

_"La salope en anglais!"_

Roughly her executioner pushed her forwards, until she found herself lying flat on the wood, still damp with blood from yesterday no doubt, and fixed the bar across her neck as the crowd continued to jeer. The wood bit into her neck but she supposed her poor flesh was about to get much worse so it wasn't worth concerning herself with a _scratch _at this stage. She could feel her filthy, stained dress itching against her skin and the dampness of the wooded bed seeping through and she heard the blade being lofted higher and preparing to drop.

_Oh god! Robert you bas-_

A gun shot fired loudly to her left and she jumped. Wasn't it traditional to fire a gun _after the_ execution? Had she already lost her head and wasn't even aware of it? Was she dead? It didn't hurt nearly as much as she had imagined it would and she moved herself around experimentally to see if she was able to float away but instead the wooden slats just rubbed her neck further.

_"Arret que l'homme!"_

The forceful words came from the officials but the gun shots were still coming and from further away than she'd originally thought and as she twisted her head as much as she could and the first thing she saw was her executioner falling down heavily. The rope shot from his hand and Cora screamed, wishing that she at least had the dignity of being paid attention to when she died a horrible grisly death but instead a sharp thud hit the guillotine and she jumped again, unable to stop herself shaking like a lamb and crying like a child. For god's sake, was she going to be killed or wasn't she?

The blade had stopped. She wriggled on her spot and nearly laughed hysterically when she managed to see that her salvation had come from a knife no bigger than her hand sticking out of the side of the guillotine, pinning the rope with the force of the throw. It would take a marksman of extraordinary quality to hit that at such a distance. She immediately discounted Robert although it was already unlikely.

The crowd scattered rapidly and Cora eventually saw why through her tears: a black stallion was charging through the people, being ridden by a figure dressed in the same colour with a mask, and the horse, showing no fear, leapt onto the platform lithely. The figure immediately slid off and produced another knife, shooting casually at the approaching guards, hitting one of their gunpowder packs and blowing up the whole group quite spectacularly. Cora cried out but she was hardly going to mourn the men who'd been trying to execute her; the crowd seemed torn between terror and admiration and not one of them attempted to intervene as her saviour removed the wooden bar swiftly, using it to toss at another guard, distracting him enough that his shot flew elsewhere and following the bar with the second knife. The knife hit home and Cora didn't think there was enough blood in a man for it to come out his neck like that but she soon forgot his plight when she felt hands grab her upper arms again.

This touch was altogether less rough but still purposeful and she was pulled to her feet, she wobbled, but managed to stay upright as the figure made a vague noise towards her horse to make it sit down. Her rescuer sat astride the bent horse once more and pulled Cora's limp frame with him, reaching the gun around to fire at the approaching guard. He was the last one to try to approach them and Cora thought that might have something to do with his body falling back amongst the crowd, missing the back of his head.

She focused on the bloody mess because it was better than the height they obtained when the massive horse pushed itself to its full stature. She had never been much use with heights and dear god they were high up now, towering over the crowd and there was only one way down – she clung to the figure and buried her head in a cloaked shoulder, but she couldn't hide for long. Not being able to see what was happening had only made her more terrified before so she forced herself to look.

The horse leapt suddenly from the platform, flying over some distance before landing elegantly on the ground once more with a thud that Cora thought must have been heard for miles. She felt the beast pick its legs up as they moved and it occurred to her that the horse must be standing on something bulky. Oh good god, they had probably just trampled some peasants! Oh well, Cora thought with sudden maliciousness and she looked down at the writing masses, it served them right for cheering her execution.

She clutched the stranger tightly around the waist to keep herself in place, trying not to be too incumbent and allow him the use of his hands for the reigns and his pistol, particularly the latter. Cora didn't spare a single glance backwards, sick of the peasants and the fear, and instead she focused on the road ahead as they galloped away, faster and faster until she couldn't hear a single cry from the crowd.

They'd gotten away!

"Erm..." her rescuer still hadn't spoken and Cora still wasn't entirely sure whether she hadn't dreamed him up, but she pushed on and spoke tentatively. "I think we're far enough away to stop. Or at least slow down."

In truth she wasn't sure. They had been riding hard but it could have been five minutes, or five hours in her current state and she still wouldn't have noticed; she didn't know the area at all and frankly they could be anywhere between the Spanish border and the English Channel and she wouldn't have known.

Cora tried to focus on her saviour's face for the first time. Her tears and the speed with which they had moved had obscured her view earlier, but now she saw warm blue-grey eyes above the neckerchief that covered mouth and nose. Underneath the wide-brimmed hat she could just see soft, downy hair sticking out that must have been a fringe but there was nothing else. It was enough though – the eyes were soft enough that she wasn't scared – and surely someone who'd saved her simply had to be on her side?

After considering for a moment the man finally spoke, in a very low hiss that Cora doubted she would have heard were she not pressed right against him.

"Don't be daft. We're not _far enough_ till we're safe in England. Go to sleep Countess, you'll need it later."

Cora nodded along helplessly, pleased to be given instructions that were in her best interest at least, and she really was _so _tired. If this was the Pimpernel – although it surely couldn't be, he wasn't even wearing scarlet! – and he wanted her to sleep then she would obey quite happily. Whether foolishly or not, she trusted her saviour utterly and completely and she promptly fell asleep against his shoulder, the rain having stopped enough not to splash her face.

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><p>More to come soon.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Erm, I did say there would be more.

And I realise it's customary to be grateful for reviews but just to say that having being raised by a historian, currently living WITH a historian and having done four years at University with a related subject I do know when the French Revolution was. This is AU and I did state that. Sorry to sound like a bitch but there's constructive criticism and then there's just trying to sound clever.

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><p>Cora felt a speck of water hit her cheek and immediately opened her eyes to take in her surroundings. It seemed mad to her that given her state of sheer exhaustion she should be woken from her deep reverie by something as miniscule as a single drop but the moment she did awake her senses were alert as though sensing danger.<p>

She had almost managed to convince herself that that whole thing had been a dream and that she would wake up at home inEnglandsurrounded by her suddenly very clean seeming possessions. Or else she would wake up on the floor of her cell, after having dreamt of the kind of rescue that only existed in the novels her girls read and was most definitely beyond the capabilities of her husband. And really he was the only person who would bother to save her from the guillotine. But she was still here in the open air, being hurried away from the mob and that terrible cell towards what she desperately hoped was freedom by he masked stranger.

They had certainly travelled a fair distance since she'd fallen asleep, although the landscape looking different could quite easily mean that they had only travelled a few yards as opposed to the hundred of miles she was hoping for. It was impossible of course but she dearly wished that her saviour had been proficient enough to get her back toDoverwithout ever waking her. She glanced up at the figure that was still holding her tight and smiled slightly, whoever he was, he was so focused upon the road that he was yet to notice her being conscious again.

She shifted slightly, distinctly stiff in her position and feeling more than a little bit sore across her backside and wondering whether they were going to stop at all. She supposed there was only one way to find out.

"Erm…excuse me?"

Gosh, she felt such a fool. After all this mysterious man had done for her already, and despite being pressed against him all she could manage to say was 'excuse me'? As though she were very politely asking somebody to move in a drawing room. But really, what on _earth_ was she supposed to say? It wasn't as though she was privy to her saviour's name and she could hardly call him Mr Pimpernel because goodness wouldn't she sound like a fool if it really was just a story and this rescue was unique!

The warm eyes she had focussed on moments before sleep overtook her looked down at her again and Cora smiled softly, a little more loosely than she had intended but she was still _very_tired after all!

"What is it?"

Still a whisper then. It seemed her new friend had no intention of becoming more cordial, not that she could really expect more, but it would have been nice to have a name, or at least some indication that she hadn't been rescued by a figment of her imagination.

"Where are we going? And are we close now?"

Cora shuffled in her seat, realising with some chagrin how bruised she was likely to be and how painful her unaccustomed backside was going to be after the journey. It was a small price to pay though she supposed - she hadn't lost her head and that was the important thing – and with that optimistic thought in mind she looked up at the sky and tried to assess the time of day. She craned her head to look around her saviour and immediately felt herself slipping and squealed embarrassing, convinced for a moment she had dodged the guillotine only to break her neck falling off a horse. But a warm, strong arm closed around her waist and pulled her closer, saving her from the fall and the indignity of the best case scenario, which was landing in the muddy side of the road at this point. She clung onto her rescuer, leaning on his collar and breathing deep the scent of gunpowder and rainwater.

He shifted underneath her, making her remove herself immediately – perhaps he didn't like being touched?

"Sorry," she muttered quietly.

An amused voice answered and it was livelier than anything Cora had heard from her rescuer, or indeed anyone she had encountered in the last week.

"Bloody 'ell I knew you'd be trouble."

She couldn't see the mouth but Cora looked into the eyes once more and saw the amusement dancing in them. She momentarily entertained the notion of being indignant but supposed it was a fair point and smiled for what felt like the first time in months and she got herself into the position she'd been in before.

"I don't mean to be…"

"We're nearly there."

Cora didn't dare look around again, less she unseat herself but from the tone it sounded true and she was rather inclined to believe her rescuer.

"Where are we going?"

The horse, she hadn't noticed that they had long-since slowed to a trot, slowed down further and she turned her head to the side as carefully as she could manage given her recent dice with death. She saw what seemed to her to be the most appealing thing she had encountered in all her life.

What appeared to be a tavern was barely two minutes in the distance and Cora sighed with relief, immeasurably happy at the prospect of food and drink in the obscenely pretty place that was laden with thatch work and appeared to have a little chimney puffing smoke from the top. It was like something from a painting!

"Oh thank god... But," panic overtook her suddenly and she looked back up into her rescuers face. "Won't they be French? What if they turn me in to the officials? They might arrest you too!"

A snort of laughter met her concern and though she knew she wasn't exactly in the best position she still felt a stab of indignation that her worries were being mocked.

"They won't."

And with that they set off at a pace once more and Cora trusted him to have made the right decision, and half-suspected he had done this before. He simply must have done! The skill of her rescue and this place being rather conveniently placed could not just be good luck – was this man actually the elusive Pimpernel? Had she been saved by a mythical hero that until this morning she had thought was as real as Robin Hood?

Later Cora wondered why, in these wonderful, exhilarating moments following her escape, she wasn't able to spare a thought for anyone too important. Her husband and her children didn't enter her mind, the plight of those poor souls not saved didn't either – why had _she _been saved anyway? Surely there were more important people? Instead all she could think of, and it was with utter, untamed glee that the thought entered her mind, was the possibility of being able to take a bath and soak under the water for at least an hour. She loathed being this dirty and she _loved_ taking baths.

The rain began to fall again with a great deal more velocity as they covered the ground swiftly, almost trying to beat it before it soaked them through, and reached the tavern. They halted and her saviour immediately swung his leg over the horse and dismounted gracefully before reaching up to help her with gloved hands and lowering her to the ground a bit more shakily than she would have thought. Perhaps his arms were tired? Or maybe lifting her off the ground earlier had been mostly momentum and adrenaline? Cora didn't have too much time to dwell on these peculiarities after her saviour handed the reins to a small, very impressed looking boy that had come running to greet them. He pocketed a few coins as he led the horse away, sufficiently impressed by the figure and his newfound bounty that he was practically bowing as he walked towards the stables.

"Come on Countess."

She followed him, very conscious of the fact that she had been in the same gown now for nearly a week and she must look, and smell, absolutely horrendous. Cora looked around her as they entered, feeling rather embarrassed that she had never before entered a public place in such a state of filthy dishabille, and felt like every eye was upon her. Inside it was a cramped, warm looking place and the presence of her saviour – was he _shorter _than her? – seemed to make the room feel smaller and she tried to keep as close by as possible.

It was not to be though and he immediately left her side and went to the bar, sharing a few words with the man behind it before being handed a key. Cora looked around the small room, taking in the merrily drinking commoners, none of whom seemed to have any interest in her and her appearance, and almost wished she could be amongst them. How much simpler life would be if she were like them instead! Just eating and drinking and laughing quite freely rather than being hunted and executed because her husband had a _stupid_ title. Glumly she hurried after the man, convinced for a moment she was about to be abandoned although she need not have worried.

He turned back to her – _why on earth did no one think his mask strange?_ – and held out his hand for her. Without a second-thought she took it and allowed him to lead her up the winding staircase that, she noticed with some discomfort, felt about at large as a tree trunk. It was just as well fashions were so slim these days or else she might not have fit through the narrow opening and round the winding staircase; she never once let go of the gloved hand though, despite the obvious route they were taking, and she tried squeezing it several times before she finally got a response that made her feel safer.

He turned off at the top and opened a nearby door, holding it open for Cora and standing aside politely. She entered the room and could have jumped with glee at the contents. There was a bed, not a huge one but certainly more than enough for her small frame and it wasn't a floor and was therefore already better than her other accommodation this week. A fire was roaring in the grate, making the whole room glow with warm light and through the little door on the other side of the bed there was a bathroom that contained, her heart did a leap, a bath filled with steaming water.

"How…?"

She turned back to the man and smiled, utterly confused, but quite prepared to believe, on top of everything else, that he was somehow magical and had predicted her desires.

"I told them to 'ave it all ready by this time. Thought you might need it."

He turned away but Cora could still see those wonderful eyes and she immediately said thank you, reaching for his hand once more.

"How can I ever thank you?"

"I'll be downstairs…or next door dependin' on 'ow long you take."

He opened the door before Cora could reply fully, letting go of her hand once more.

"I'll need a maid-," Cora spoke to the retreating back to no avail and the door was resolutely shut as the cloaked figure vanished.

"Nevermind…" she mumbled, turning towards the bath and wondering how on earth she was supposed to get out of this dress without assistance, something she had never done in her life.

She reached behind her and tried to fiddle with the clasp. Or at least _find_ the clasp. It occurred to her as she desperately tried to unhook the dress that was practically caked to her body that her time in prison might have been better spent learning how to do something practical like this rather than moping. On the other hand she had no way of knowing that she would ever require such skills again so she had been justified in her despair at least.

She pulled at the neck until it began to loosen, the fabric stretching easily with wear until she was able to wriggle herself out of a single sleeve. The material seemed to retract thought and she found herself caught and unable to wriggle any more: she tried bending her arm behind her and fiddling again but everything was so pushed together now that she couldn't even locate the clasps.

She stamped her foot in exasperation and felt like crying, lifting a smudged hand automatically to brush away the forming tears with the back of it before crying out again at the dust that she'd just wiped in her eyes. She was filthy and dirty and covered in dry blood and wanted to get into that absolutely glorious looking bath, but so far she was completely unable to get out of her dress and she was making herself worse if anything!

With a frustrated groan she wondered whether just ripping it would work. The dress was getting flimsy enough as it was and she started tugging at the material desperately, and as it turned out, hopelessly, in a faint attempt to free herself. Instead of yielding the clasps, that seemed to have finally decided to announce themselves, starting digging into her back and she yelped at the pinching.

Surely it shouldn't be this hard?

Just as she was about to give up and sink to the floor for a cry she expected was not going to be a short affair a knock came at the door and broke her out of her reverie. The only person it possibly could be was her saviour and she looked around hopelessly for a clock – surely it hadn't been _that_ long since he'd left her? – before relinquishing and calling for the knocker to come inside. She was determined that one way or another she was going to get into that bath, even if she had to ask a man she barely knew to strip her bare.

To her surprise a woman, about her own age if not a bit younger, opened the door slightly and slipped inside with a long package in her hands and a warm smile.

"'ello Madame, the gentleman said you needed 'elp."

Cora smiled back ecstatically and felt like running forward and hugging the woman. This was _exactly_ what she needed and the embarrassment she'd felt at having reached her forties without being able to do something as simple as undress herself quite vanished in the wake of the inviting face. She didn't have to humiliate herself and pathetically ask the Scarlet Pimpernel to undress her, instead she had a nice looking woman with a kind face and a soft, charming French accent to help her. She only hoped her new friend knew more English than she did French!

"Yes! Thank you so much Miss…erm?"

The woman seemed to think for a moment and Cora paused too; surely that wasn't a complicated question and she hadn't used any long words to scupper the woman. She smiled at her encouragingly before remembering not to look _too_ patronising in the face of kindness.

"Sarah."

Cora smiled wider with all the skills of charm and integration that she had been taught from birth and reached out to take a small, rough hand in hers, squeezing it gently.

"Thank you so much my dear, I'm afraid I'm not much good at taking care of myself. If you could help me out of this dress I'd be extremely grateful."

Sarah returned her smile and immediately reached for the front of her dress where Cora could now see the clasps were sitting. She looked down at them as Sarah's fingers flew over the fabric and could have sworn that somehow the dress' fastenings were mocking her with their newfound obligingness to be undone. She glared for a moment before the energy to do so deserted her and she closed her eyes in pleasure as the swift fingers removed the horrible dress, too thankful for her skin finally being free to chastise herself for her own deficiencies.

Sarah moved quickly and calmly calmness was certainly something Cora needed after recent events and she was immeasurably grateful for the care. She examined the other woman as she worked and was struck by her eyes, they were so terribly soft and almost familiar and she found herself trusting this stranger as immediately as she had her saviour.

Sarah slid the dress down her remaining arm and tugged at the material that had gathered around her waist, pulling it to the ground and leaving her in her stockings and corset. Oh Lord, she already felt considerably better, although she supposed she'd have to put the sorry rags back on afterwards and that thought momentarily dampened her spirits before she determined not to care and instead her arms away from her body so Sarah could unlace her corset. The damned constrictive thing came away soon and she breathed deeply as Sarah removed another obstacle between her and the glorious bath.

"Thank you so much Sarah."

A tear sprung up in her eye and she felt utterly pathetic – the simplest kindness moved her after the rough treatment she had experienced recently and this woman seemed so kind. Her saviour was all very well and good but he was cold and distant, she needed _some_ warmth.

A single tear fell down her cheek and Cora felt sudden rapturous joy at her reprieve once again; she had almost given up hope that she wouldn't die, she'd been so accepting of the inevitable it had never occurred to her that she might _live _and how grateful she would feel for the chance to do so. Sarah reached for the hem of her chemise and she felt another tear forming, followed by several others until Sarah looked up from her chore, noticing her state.

"Mon dieu! My dear lady," she straightened back up and lifted her hand to Cora's cheek. "Why do you cry?"

The contact made her cry more, great racking sobs beginning to fall down her cheeks and she clung to Sarah's hand and allowed the other woman to pull her into an embrace as the tears fell unstoppably. She wrapped her arms around Sarah's back, burying her face in the soft material of the woman's shoulder and taking an extraordinary comfort from the strong fingers stroking her hair gently and the lilting accent.

"It's alright my lady, you are safe 'ere and I'm sure the monsieur will take very good care of you…"

Sarah seemed to recall something and she gently extricated herself from Cora's grasp giving her hand a final squeeze and scurrying quickly back and forth to the package she had rested against the bed.

"'e asked me to dress you in these."

Cora gestured for Sarah to untie the package, knowing as she brushed tears away with the back off her hand that streaks of dirt must be staining her cheeks and now her hands. Whatever was in the package she didn't want to ruin it before she'd even had chance to see it. She gasped and smiled at the sight before her.

It was a new dress. It was much simpler than her old one, an article Robert had bought her and insisted she wore when she arrived to show off his wealth to his wealthier sister, but it was beautiful and Cora already liked it more. It was soft and clean and utterly glorious, scooping at the neck and accompanied by clean stockings that matched the cream colouring. She felt the emotions bubbling through her again and felt slightly ridiculous at her inability to control herself at the moment. Beautiful as it was it was only a _dress_ after all but it lifted her spirits anew to know she wasn't going to have to wear something old an ragged and rather than laughing at her, as any reasonable person surely would, Sarah raised a hand to her cheek kindly and wiped away a tear with her thumb.

"Oh my dear lady, you should not cry. You will look beautiful yes?"

She leaned in to kiss her cheek and if Cora was surprised by her familiarity it was soon quashed by the warmth she felt at the affection. She managed a watery smile for Sarah.

"I'm sure I will once I'm clean. Thank you Sarah."

Sarah smiled once more and kissed her cheek again, smiling at her slyly when she pulled back although her eyes shone with something akin to apology.

"Oh an' the monsieur says 'e's sorry but 'e couldn't find a clean corset but that you could wear this dress without one."

Cora blushed immediately at the thought. Never in her life had she left her bedroom anything other than fully and perfectly dressed and tomorrow she was expected to step out without a corset or underwear apparently. Was this man really suggesting she spend the rest of the journey wearing nothing under this dress other than her stockings? A large portion of which journey would be spent riding on a _horse_? She clenched her thighs together unconsciously, unable to prevent the thought of quite how horribly bruised her pale skin would inevitably become.

The protest died on her lips though when she glanced at the floor and saw how worse for wear her corset truly looked and she could _feel _how horrible her chemise was – she supposed they were unlikely to stay here long enough to send anything to a laundry woman and she'd feel rude asking Sarah. It seemed she had no choice but to go naked under her dress. The thought thrilled her oddly and she reached for the hem of her chemise herself, as Sarah was occupied returning the dress to the bed for sake-keeping, and pulled the garment over her head, feeling immediately better as the cold, clean air hit her grimy skin.

She looked happily towards the bath. Not much longer now!

Sarah fiddled with the clasps of her stockings and had them off quickly enough and Cora, finally free of her hated clothes, immediately hurried towards the bath to climbed into it's inviting warmth, groaning in pleasure as she sunk down into the scented, soothing water.

"Good god, that's _wonderful_."

Sarah smiled at her indulgently and made a small curtsey.

"I'll wait for you next door if you like my lady."

She was half way out of the door before Cora, with some panic in her voice, replied.

"No! Please stay Sarah…I…

I don't think I'd like to be alone just yet."

Did the maid know, she wondered, where the masked stranger had found her? Was this a habitual endeavour for him, saving the odd aristocrat and whisking them away to this place? They had certainly seemed unperturbed by his arrival and continued use of a mask, but did Sarah know that the woman she was tending to had, only a scarce few hours earlier, been lying on the guillotine?

Sarah smiled at her kindly and picked up the nearby porcelain jug.

"Would you like me to wash your hair Madam?"

Cora nearly cried again at the offer. Really, she couldn't think of a single thing she wanted more!


End file.
